


Daddy's Little Princess

by sinnerforhire



Category: Lost
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-03
Updated: 2010-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:32:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinnerforhire/pseuds/sinnerforhire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now, when Sayid makes love to her in a makeshift tent made out of scrap metal and a ratty tarp, Shannon sometimes closes her eyes and imagines herself in an ornate, queen-sized bed with black silk sheets and a leather headboard.  She listens to the pounding of the surf but hears instead the gentle gurgling of the creek behind the Little League field.  The chapped and cracking lips that devour every inch of her tanned skin become the hands that guided her to womanhood in a haze of pain and ecstasy on the craggy shores of Bar Harbor.</p><p>And when Boone calls her "Princess," she takes it as a compliment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy's Little Princess

Every Saturday at precisely 10:15 a.m. the Shuttle pulled up to the end of the immaculately landscaped drive. Not 10:12, not 10:17. It came at 10:15 or not at all. And it was always as blindingly white as the day it had come off the assembly line.

It was their nanny, Miss Vicki, who had nicknamed Boone's father's car "the Shuttle." In 1991 cars tended to be square and blocky, so the sleek, aerodynamic Caprice resembled a space shuttle more than a luxury car. The nickname persisted for all the years Richard Carlisle owned the car, except for a few weeks after a flooding incident when it was termed "the Submarine."

Every Saturday without fail for seven years, five months, and three weeks the Shuttle pulled up to the edge of the driveway and honked the horn three times. Every Saturday without fail Sabrina Carlisle would fix a disappointed gaze upon her son and say, "He's your father, Boone. Don't you want to see your father? He wants to see you."

Then Boone, without meeting his mother's eyes, would say, "I don't care."

This ritual had been going on for quite a few months when nine-year-old Shannon piped up, "I wanna go. Can I go?"

Sabrina, knowing it was basically futile to refuse the spoiled girl anything, sighed and looked out the spotless bay window at the idling Shuttle. "I suppose it would be all right, just this once. But _only_ if Boone goes with you."

Boone crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "I'm not going. And you can't make me."

"Boo-_oooone_!" Shannon whined. "I wanna _gooooo_! " She stomped down the stairs to the front door and spun around to face him. "Are you coming?"

"Forget it!" Boone threw open the French doors that led to the dining room and disappeared before Sabrina could respond. Shannon stuck her tongue out at his retreating form and slammed the door shut.

Sabrina sighed. As soon as Gary got home from the country club, they were having the Swiss boarding school discussion again.

~*~*~*~*~

Shannon spent enough time with Richard Carlisle over the years that she began to feel that he, more than Gary MacMillan, was her father. Gary tended to spend his weekends schmoozing clients at golf courses and cigar bars. More often than not, he stumbled home well after midnight, stinking of top-shelf scotch and singing Rolling Stones songs at the top of his lungs. Several times Shannon had woken up to the sound of shattering glass and slammed doors. Sabrina had finally replaced the glass panes in the coffee table and French doors with Plexiglass.

Richard, on the other hand, confined his violence to the verbal realm. He could be quite charming and debonair, and he had never appeared to be anything other than a perfect gentleman in front of Shannon. She had seen no reason for Boone to bear him such a grudge, which was why, after that first Saturday, she continued to visit with Richard until the very end.

It wasn't so much that their visits were exciting; not like the vacations Gary took her on. By the time Shannon was ten, she had been to Disney World, Sea World, Busch Gardens, Myrtle Beach, and Hawaii. It was precisely because Richard treated her so normally that Shannon enjoyed her time with him. They would play miniature golf on a course with a ten-foot-tall green dragon that spat water on hot days. They ate homemade bubble-gum ice cream (Shannon's favorite, which everyone else in the house thought was gross, so their housekeeper/cook Mrs. Pruitt would never buy it) at a sidewalk café under a green-and-white striped umbrella. They went to a private swimming pool where Richard taught her how to dive off the medium board--she never did get up the courage to jump off the high dive.

As far as Shannon was concerned, the best visits were the ones where they would eat at Richard's father's pizza place. Richard's original last name wasn't Carlisle; he had changed it from something Italian and complicated when he decided to go into broadcasting. He had taught her how to order in the Sicilian dialect his parents spoke, and they had come to think of her as one of their own. Richard's father used to serve her special pizzas with smiley faces made out of pepperoni and olives, and his nephew Nick would let her play his guitar during his breaks from the dishroom.

The pizza place was just a few blocks from the local park, so they would often walk over and watch the Little League games from the rickety wooden bleachers. Then they liked to sit down by the creek and watch the sun set. There was a tree that grew nearly horizontally over the water, its thick trunk hollowed to form a perfect seat. Richard would climb up and sit behind Shannon as she dangled her legs over the creek, watching the shadows dance on the waves.

It was in that tree that Richard kissed her the first time.

~*~*~*~*~

By the time Shannon turned sixteen, the bulk of her visits with Richard took place indoors. Specifically, in Richard's downtown apartments. More specifically, in Richard's bed. Because of Richard, Shannon had always had a weakness for swarthy Mediterranean men with caramel-colored skin and thick jet-black hair. Because of Richard, Shannon always associated the smell of lemon Pledge and leather with sex.

Because of Richard, Shannon could never have children.

~*~*~*~*~

When Shannon was fourteen, Richard took her camping in Maine. They rented an RV in Portland and drove to Bar Harbor, where they stopped to get lobsters from a shack on the beach. That night, they sat on a blanket on the rocky beach, basking in the orangey-rose glow of the sinking sun. Beside them a small fire did its best to fight off the chill of the impending night.

Shannon lay her head in Richard's lap. Richard ran his fingers through her silky golden hair. "I'm glad you're here, Shannon," he said.

She smiled. "Me too."

"I don't just mean here on the beach, although I can't imagine wanting to share this with anyone else." He moved around to look her directly in the eye. "I mean here in my life. You've become very special to me. I love you, Shannon."

A slight bit of confusion flitted across Shannon's face, but she quickly regained her composure. "I love you too, Daddy." She had started calling Richard "Daddy" when she was eleven, and the original intent was just to insult her father. She soon came to realize, however, that Richard was far more deserving of the title. She saw Richard on a far more consistent basis than she saw Gary, who generally didn't get home from work (or, more accurately, the bar) until she was already in bed.

Richard beamed. "I love it when you call me that, Princess." He lay down beside her and slipped one arm around her shoulders. He started to kiss her neck. "You know you'll always be Daddy's little princess, right?"

Shannon dug her fingers into the gravel. She'd known this day was coming. She'd kind of known that it was, in fact, what the whole trip had been intended to accomplish. Sabrina had begged, pleaded, and all but demanded that Richard bring Boone along, but neither Richard nor Boone had warmed to the idea. After five years, Richard had said, he'd had no choice but to accept that Boone was no longer a part of his life. She was sure that Richard was secretly relieved that Boone never came with them. Otherwise, he couldn't do what he was doing now.

Darkness had settled in on the beach; the small fire provided the only meager light. Richard slipped his hand underneath Shannon's shirt to caress one of her small, firm breasts. Shannon tipped her head back to look at the stars. She sighed. _No going back now_, she thought. She started unbuttoning Richard's shirt, feeling the wiry hair that covered his pectorals. He was in good shape for his age; in his business that was basically a requirement.

Richard unclasped her bra and pushed her shirt up around her neck. He took her now-hardened nipple between his teeth and she gasped. She arched her back and Richard's erection brushed against her right hip. He took her hand and guided it to rest atop the head of his cock. It was smooth, as smooth as the skin on her own breasts, and slightly wet. She didn't know what she had expected it to feel like, but it wasn't that. Richard unzipped his chinos and freed his cock from his boxers. He then shoved Shannon's cutoff shorts and panties down to her knees.

Shannon took a deep breath. "Daddy, are you sure...is this...?"

"Princess, your first time should be with someone you love," he whispered, flashing the megawatt smile that had made Channel 14's six o'clock newscast number one in the region for 11 years running. "Someone who thinks the sun rises and sets only for you."

Years later, Shannon would look back on that night and ask, "If you loved me, why did you hurt me?"

~*~*~*~*~

"Oh, Shannon, why are you wearing red? That's so unoriginal."

"Red is the color of passion," Shannon replied, twirling on her Swarovski-studded heels to show off the scalloped hem of the silk cocktail gown. "And Daddy says I'm the most passionate person he knows."

"Daddy says, Daddy says," Boone sneered, appearing at the top of the stairwell. "He's not your fucking father, Shannon. When are you going to get that through your head?"

"You had your chance. Seven years he's been waiting for you to come out that door, Boone, and you never do."

"You think you know him." His tone was measured, even, but his eyes blazed. "He's a total bastard and he always has been. And one of these days, he's going to leave you. No explanation, no apology, nothing. He'll just be gone, and you'll never know why. Was it because you weren't pretty enough? Smart enough? Or maybe--" He stepped right up to her, close enough for her to feel his breath on her cheek. "--you just weren't a good enough fuck."

He couldn't have knocked the wind out of her more effectively if he had punched her in the gut. Without a word, she shoved him backwards with all her strength. He crashed down atop an end table, knocking over a Tiffany lamp and hitting his head on the parquet floor with an audible crack. Shannon slammed the front door behind her and marched to the end of the drive to wait for Richard.

Five hours later, she was still waiting.

~*~*~*~*~

In deference to custom, Shannon wore a black sweater over her red silk gown. Richard had been anxious to see it, and she was determined that he would, even if it meant looking a bit tasteless. Otherwise, she hadn't changed her outfit a bit from last night, not even to shower. She had stood in the subzero February chill until 4 a.m., until Sabrina had literally dragged her back into the house. Even then, she had maintained her vigil at the front door, moving only to answer the phone at 5:15.

Boone had been the first one down the stairs after Shannon's scream pierced the early morning silence. It was Boone, still sporting cuts and bruises and a bump on his head from their fight, who had held her as she continued to scream for the next forty-five minutes. And it was Boone who was holding her hand now as they gazed at the twisted remains of the Saab convertible.

"--could recover very little," the state police trooper was saying. "But we did find this." He held up a flat box wrapped in red tissue paper. Sabrina accepted it, then handed it to Shannon.

Shannon opened it. Inside, on a bed of red velvet, was a silver necklace that spelled out "Princess."

~*~*~*~*~

Now, when Sayid makes love to her in a makeshift tent made out of scrap metal and a ratty tarp, Shannon sometimes closes her eyes and imagines herself in an ornate, queen-sized bed with black silk sheets and a leather headboard. She listens to the pounding of the surf but hears instead the gentle gurgling of the creek behind the Little League field. The chapped and cracking lips that devour every inch of her tanned skin become the hands that guided her to womanhood in a haze of pain and ecstasy on the craggy shores of Bar Harbor.

And when Boone calls her "Princess," she takes it as a compliment.


End file.
